


Guardian Angel

by Mozzarella



Category: Dark Wolverine (Comics), Wolverine (Comics)
Genre: Child Abuse, Gen, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 03:22:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1672826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mozzarella/pseuds/Mozzarella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alt. title "Pain"</p><p>In which Daken constructs an angelic fantasy to help him through the pain and torture of Romulus' upbringing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guardian Angel

Pain, he had learned early in his life, could be controlled. Sometimes ignored, sometimes transformed into pleasure, sometimes used to his advantage, to clear his mind…  
  
Though one fact remained, even after over half a century of knowing pain as one of his few constants:   
  
Pain was not, and could never be, his friend. He had heard it said before, by his drill sergeants, by the people who fancied themselves warriors. “Pain is your friend. It can be made to serve your purposes.”   
  
The second, he agreed with. The first was a lie, perhaps only to him.   
  
When he was a child, wounds still fresh from his adoptive mother’s betrayal… and his father’s… Romulus made it clear that pain would be his teacher.   
  
He was sent on assassinations, shot and slashed and bruised and broken. The first time, when he’d cried from a compound fracture to his right arm, Romulus treated his left in the same manner.   
  
Daken (in his mind, still Akihiro, though Romulus refused to call him by the name a lowly human had given him) would later realize that this game had a name. “Two for flinching”, to Americans.   
  
For him, it was more of “four for simpering”, and perhaps a broken rib.   
  
Romulus never failed to repeat this lesson, constantly reminding him that ‘crying shows weakness’. Weakness, of course, was a mortal sin where Romulus was concerned.   
  
He believed that these words were what kept Daken (Akihiro) from letting loose any more sobs, that taught him to use pain as he’d advised.   
In truth, in that secret place in Daken’s mind where he was still Akihiro, it wasn’t the fear that Romulus instilled in him that kept the pain from taking him over.   
  
He had learned from many books various methods by which he could bypass pain, ignore it, or even take pleasure in it. The method he used up until he’d lost the part of him that was still Akihiro was something he hadn’t learned from books, though.  
  
It was something he dreamt up on his own, in that place in his mind where he was still a child, and worth something to someone.   
  
A guardian angel.   
  
His angel varied. In the agonized haze of his mind, before the endorphins would kick in, he would conjure up what made him feel safest. He would pretend that Romulus wasn’t there, that it was just him in this secret place in his mind, and with him, his guardian angel.   
  
At times, it was a beautiful woman he believed was his mother.   
  
Skin like ivory, soft as silk, caressing his face with unerring gentleness… he believed in this wraith, this spirit that made him feel worthy, that made him feel…. Loved.   
  
Her hands were smooth as nothing in the world, sometimes warm, sometimes cool, depending on the circumstances behind his pain… This was his first guardian angel, before Romulus had taken it upon himself to instill in him the discipline to remove what was left of his weakness.  
  
Slowly.   
  
Painfully.   
  
It was in his later years, when Akihiro in his mind was only the smallest slivers of whatever joy he had in childhood, that his angel changed.   
It was a man—like those he read of in books, the heroes and generals and those who were strong…  
  
The man wasn’t weak.   
  
He was the epitome of strength, of the power Daken had learned was all he could strive for under Romulus’ teachings… And yet this man did not strike him down as Romulus would.   
  
This man held him like his angel mother had; gentle, like he was something loved… and yet his hands were not the smooth silk hands of his perfect mother-figure, but the calloused, hard hands of a man who worked for his strength, who bore scars that were proud and shameful both… Scars that might decorate Daken’s skin if not for his (accursed) healing factor.   
  
The man’s scars multiplied every time Daken went into that dream state, where pain was waiting to numb and his skin knitted together. Hands were gentler, always, than anything real, bringing him to his feet in an illusion of steadiness.  
  
He would never tell of this angel. Not to Romulus. Not to anyone. The angel was all he had that was still his.   
  
Eventually, when Romulus told him of the empire, his supposed inheritance, he lost hold of his angel.   
  
It was a useless illusion to hold onto.   
  
And yet…   
  
No, he would never admit to anyone… those twinges of recognition at the touch of calloused hands, never gentle, refined in the kill…  
  
Neither at the encompassing form of the only man he knew would ever love him for what he was—but his father was a fool.   
  
A fool to think he needed to feel loved.   
  
He would learn a little later that his healing factor was much more powerful than his fa—than Wolverine’s. That his method wasn’t just his anymore.   
  
It was a painful revalation, but no one knew of it, just as no one knew of the angel. It—she—he—should have been his. Should have been only Daken’s (Akihiro’s).   
  
Only once did he see his angel again. It wasn’t the physical pain, this time.   
  
But…  
  
With pain so visceral, so deep-reaching and cruel, he couldn’t—  
  
Not alone. Not when he knew there was nothing left for him. No empire. No power. Nothing.   
  
When he slept, as scar tissue knit together more slowly than he had ever experienced, up his wrists, he dreamt.   
  
It was both, and it was one… Gentle hands, the constant, and the comforting smooth skin, but the sturdy form, the features of one of the strongest men he’d ever known…  
  
Akihiro dreamt of his father, the one called Wolverine…   
  
Logan…  
  
And he knew that even if he had nothing left, this—this—was still his. Always his.   
  
Only his.


End file.
